A Snake of a Different Color
by Natasha-Von-Lecter
Summary: Severus Snape contends with the end of the war, and his reintroduction by Ms. Granger into polite Society. This was a response to the Socializing Snape concept on Sycophant Hex.


It all started at the Broomsticks. I didn't want to be there, but then again, I didn't really want to be anywhere, so why not the Broomsticks? It was over, after all. Years of hiding and scheming and staying alive by the skin of my crooked yellow teeth, gone. After such a momentous buildup, the final battle seemed anti-climactic. We were attacked, we fought back, and the boy who lived did exactly what everyone hoped and prayed he would. Voldemort was dead, his death eaters captured or fled, their ranks in ruins. And that was that. We tallied our losses, tended our wounded, buried our dead, and breathed a sigh of relief. When the dust had settled, we were the victors. And, apparently, we were thirsty. Or at least the order was thirsty, collectively, and determined to commiserate over alcoholic libation at their favorite pub.

I don't remember who had the bright idea to drag me along. Lupin, I think, still trying to make up for my near death experience at his shaggy paws. But dragged I was, and found myself seated, quite alone, at the barstool farthest from the table of frantic revellers. They were in a fever dream, flushed with pride, shaky with adrenaline, wracked simultaneously with the joy of life, and the guilt of survivors. I watched them from my private perch, staring at their swirling reflection in a glass of fire whisky. All that unrestrained emotion, boiling up, frothing out for the wide world to see. How fearless they were in their unguarded youth. So willing to cast caution to the wind, now that caution seemed an unnecessary hindrance to the rest of their unbounded lives. Did they truly expect me to join them in their unabashed revels? If they did, they should have known me better. I was not, nor would I ever be, one of them. I was content to fight beside them, even if I could not join them at their feasting table. I would not have known where to begin. I was not like them, and no amount of drinking could make me so. And then, a very strange thing happened. I was no longer alone at the bar.

At first I thought she was merely refreshing a drink, desperate to numb the pain and heighten the rush of excitement that had possessed her. But she settled down beside me, and waved the barmaid away when she offered the bottle. It was several minutes before she broke the silence.

"Are you alright?"

"I have not sustained any life-threatening injuries."

"You're not going to join us, are you?"

"I have made no plans to vacate my barstool."

"You can, you know. They WOULD be happy to see you."

"If you've come to 'cheer me up' Miss Granger, rest assured I am in no need of cheering."

"No, not cheering. Just informing. You needed to be informed, and no one there knows quite how to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"That even though you're a terrible, cranky git, you're still allowed to have a drink and crack a smile now and then. Especially now."

"Enlighten me. Why now, especially?"

"It's over, Severus. You're free. Free to be…a snake of a different color. You don't have to hide behind that cold, distant mask anymore."

"Why do you assume it's a mask, Miss Granger? Perhaps cold and distant is exactly what I am."

"What you were. Now that you have nothing left to fear you can slough off your old habits like..."

"Like a snake shedding its skin? Is that what I'm supposed to do? Tell me, Miss Granger, do you plan to stop being an insufferable know-it-all, now that we are no longer living under the cloud of war? Will your hair suddenly straighten, and your teeth shrink, now that the greatest of your worries is how to fill up the free time you used to devote to the war effort?"

She didn't seem phased by my rebuke. She looked me dead in the eye, and I suddenly realized just how well she'd grown into womanhood. When she spoke, I couldn't detect even the slightest waver to her clarion voice. If I hadn't know better, I'd have sworn I could hear admiration.

"You fought like a lion."

"Are you sorting me into your old house now, Miss Granger?"

"Would you follow me there, if I asked you?"

I watched in puzzlement as her hand relinquished her glass and began to approach me. Before I knew what had happened, her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. They stayed there, unmoving for all of ten seconds. And then, my sense came rushing back. I brusquely slapped her hand away with a hiss.

"No one touches me."

"No, they don't do they? Pity. I'd say you're quite in need of touching."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Gone quite mad then, have you?"

"No. I just saw you sitting there alone, on tonight of all nights, and I thought you might like some company."

"I am the same man I was yesterday, Miss Granger. The fall of Voldemort means I no longer must risk life and limb to ensure his demise. It does not mean I suffer from a sudden intense need to fit in."

"Yesterday you were the man you had to be to survive. Whether or not you choose to be that man now is up to you. Perhaps you'll become someone you can like better."

"I like myself just fine."

"No you don't. You haven't liked yourself for years. But that doesn't mean we don't like you. It doesn't mean I don't like you."

"Shouldn't you be having one of your little friends passing me your sentiments by note? You better scurry back to them. They'll be missing you."

"They're celebrating, as they should be. They don't need me."

"And I do?"

"You need someone to show you the way back to normalcy."

"Did you draw the short straw, Miss Granger?"

"No, but to be honest, I think you still frighten the lot of them."

"Perhaps they're just wiser than you."

"I think it's quite the opposite. I think you've got them all fooled."

"Except for you?"

"Yes. I know better."

"Better?"

"You've sacrificed the best years of your life, and faced death and worse to protect the wonderful people at that table. You love those people. And you haven't a clue in the world how to accept their gratitude."

"My my, Miss Granger. You make me sound almost human."

"Oh I have no doubt you are human. You've just forgotten how to act in polite company. After so many years of cavorting with Death Eaters you despised, you wouldn't know the first thing about…"

"They weren't all bad, you know."

I remember she paused there, and lowered her eyes. I don't think it was the type of thing she wanted to hear. But she listened none the less, as I continued.

"So many of them committed such utter atrocities. Others let their petty natures get the better of them when they were presented with the mantle of power. But not everyone was like that. Some of them were too scared to speak up, afraid to be seen as weak in a world where the weak were as good as dead. I even liked a few. Constantine Adders was a good sort. Esme Fontaine..."

My voice trailed off. Dead now, both of them. Like so many others who might have had a choice if they hadn't been born into one of the great pure blood houses. I felt her hand settle on my forearm, and I found the slight weight comforting.

"Come to the table with me. Have one drink. You don't even have to like it."

"What would that accomplish, Miss Granger?"

"You're going to have to face them, sooner or later, in the real world. Why not start tonight, when the social lubrication is flowing and it's already late? Fifteen minutes, and I'll help you escape."

"And what makes you think I need your help?"

"If you hadn't wanted to be here, Severus, you wouldn't have come."

Her hand left my arm then, fingers traveling down to clasp my palm. She slid from her barstool, and gave a gentle tug. I followed her into the fray.

Charmed candles swirled through the air, exposing the shabby tables and questionable floor. I squinted at the unusually bright light, but her fingers gripped me tighter as I hesitated.

I half expected the party to stop, glasses falling from hands, smiles falling from faces as I approached. It seems I overestimated the grand spectacle of my entrance. A few visages turned my direction. I received a nod from Albus, a tired smile from Minerva. All in all, the most dramatic moment came when I reached for a vacant chair, bumped a young man's elbow, and sat unceremoniously at the far end of the table. Hermione took the chair beside me, and relinquished my hand. And then, nothing happened. No cheers, but no groans of annoyance either. I sat, I looked at the glass the barmaid set before me, and I took a sip.

"Was it as terrible as you suspected?" she asked me.

"If I said no, would you let me leave in peace?"

She laughed at my words, and the sound was music.

"You haven't touched your drink. I believe that was part of the deal."

"I wasn't aware we had a deal, Miss Granger."

"You followed me, didn't you?"

"I will have to remember to keep from following you in the future."

"Next time, I'll let you lead."

"Lead where, exactly?"

"Anywhere you'd like."

Her remark unsettled me. I didn't care for her tone. It was too earnest. It made me think I could believe her. I started to rise, but her hand swept under the table, and she dug her fingers against the top of my thigh.

"Severus, You have no reason to doubt my sincerity. If you hear mocking in my voice, perhaps it is because you hear it everywhere."

The members of the order had begun a boisterous round of toasts, raising their glasses high and calling out cheers and praise to each of their number in turn. I could feel her hand on my leg beneath the table, grounding me, though my heart had begun to beat faster, and my throat gone dry. The toasting circled ever closer to me, exalting Trelawney's clear sight, Hagrid's bulk, Potter's unerring aim. Before I could bolt from the table, their voices had reached me. And fallen silent. I cannot describe how terrible that silence was. It was broken by the sound of chair legs scraping the crusted tile of the floor, and the creak of the table as Albus stood. He lifted his glass, his ancient voice breaking the silence with authoritative timbre.

"To Severus Snape, whose journey through the darkness has ensured that future generations will live in the warm embrace of light."

This time the crowd's chorus was more somber than the ones that had preceded them, but I believed it to be sincere. I will never be the life of a party such as that one, I will never induce romantic fantasies in idle public, and though I might wish otherwise, I will never be one of them. But that night, for the first time, I think they truly knew where my loyalties were. Are.

The toasts continued, and picked up momentum once more. The laughter returned, the gaiety possessed them again, and the celebration resumed as if nothing had happened. I downed my drink in one gulp, and rose from the table. No one seemed to notice. I was halfway to the door before her voice stopped me.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"There's not a drop left in that glass. I believe, as you said, we had a deal."

She came closer to me, almost uncomfortably so, and slipped her arm through mine.

"I told you that next time, I'd follow you."

"I have nowhere to go, Miss Granger, but home and to my bed."

"Then I suppose that will have to do."

The walk home was hurried. Perhaps I feared if she tarried over-long in the crisp air she'd return to her senses and change her mind. I had never known her to be cruel, and such a joke would have been cruel, even if it was only played on me. But try as I might as my feet flew over worn cobblestones, I could not imagine a scenario which might lead her to seek me out as a potential bed mate. It is true, we had become closer in the subsequent years following her graduation. There were potions needed for the war effort, and I could not make enough with just one meager set of hands. Her offer had been unexpected, questioned, grudgingly accepted, and finally appreciated beyond measure. I have never seen a finer dice than the ingredients prepared by her hands. Her help was truly indispensable. But in all our time together, the late hours, the sickening approach of dawn with so much left to do, the hurried afternoons where any time squeezed in between classes was utilized to meet the impossible demands of our fighters, never once did the specter of romance waft past my wary eyes. It was business, truly, nothing more. I had no time to see anything else.

But fifteen minutes later I found myself in my chambers, face to face with Hermione. Her cheek was flushed fetchingly with the exertions of our brisk walk.

"You've followed me home, girl. Now shall I walk you back to yours?"

"I don't think that's necessary, as of yet."

"In for a cup of tea then, are you?"

"No, thank you."

"Come to raid my stores?"

"No."

"Potter and Weasley put you up to this, have they?"

"No. I'm here of my own accord."

Standing around awkwardly in my own chambers had become excruciating. In all honestly, I hadn't a clue what to do with her. No. That's not the truth. I had a thousand ideas. I just didn't have a clue where to begin. And she just stood there. Looking at me with the faintest hint of a smile that said she knew something I didn't.

"Then what now, Miss Granger?"

"Anything you'd like."

"Have you always been so accommodating?"

"Only for about the last year."

"Ah, and what happened, pray tell, in the last year to strip you of your argumentative demeanor?"

"I fell in love with you."

It was not what I expected to hear. The corner of my eye twitched nervously, and my mouth went very, very dry. I took a step back from her.

"How much have you had to drink tonight, Miss Granger?"

I couldn't seem to shake the placid smile from her face. She had the look of a woman at peace, and it terrified me.

"Only a Butterbeer."

"Spiked with?"

"The knowledge that you love me just as much, but will never admit it in polite company."

"Have I ever given you sign of the affection you purport, Miss Granger?"

"Yes. On several occasions."

"Such as?"

"In March you told me that my elixir had the finest emulsion properties you'd seen in a decade. Just last week you complimented my bottling technique, and on the same day, I caught you looking down my robes while I poured."

"I did no such thing!"

"Of course not."

"Are you trying to provoke me, Miss Granger?"

"Yes."

"Into what?"

"Kiss me."

And I did. If I had paused to think, I would have tossed her from my quarters, and taken a very cold shower. Instead, I found myself kissing the warm, soft lips of my former student. And I found her kissing back.

It had been so long. There had been no woman in my life, and as the tensions between the Death Eaters and the side of light began to swell to a head, I was even more careful not to expose myself to spies. I couldn't even find release with those women from Diagon Alley. Lust loosens the tongue, and one never knows who they truly work for.

Hermione was as good as her word. She let me do anything I wanted. Years of pent up frustrations, thwarted desires, and lonely nights flooded from me like a torrent. You can't imagine what it felt like, to be welcomed. How her soft hands held me with equal parts passion and tenderness, the words of encouragement she whispered in my ear, and how she parted for me with genuine want. If there is such a thing as true acceptance, I found it with Hermione Granger that night, and fell asleep in its warm embrace. In the morning, she was gone. I would have thought the whole thing as dream, had she not left three long, curly hairs on the soap in my shower.

I encountered her later that day, seated below the remains of the whomping willow. Its root structure was damaged in the battle, but it was recuperating in the mild sunlight.

"If you're hoping to socialize that ancient tree before its strength returns, Miss Granger, I wish you the best of luck in this most hapless of tasks."

She turned her face to me over her shoulder, and gave me a soft smile. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's really not all that fierce, once you get to know him. Getting to know him, now that's the hard part. Join me?"

Though sitting on the cold ground is far from my idea of comfort, I couldn't find it in myself to argue. I sat down beside her, and tried to arrange my limbs in a semblance of dignity. Hermione reached out her hand and soothingly stroked the bark of the gnarled trunk. The leaves shuddered softly in response.

"He's not a bad tree at all. He's just been whomping people for so long that he's scared them all away, and now no one visits him anymore."

"And you mean to change all that?"

"I mean to help him in any way I can."

"You're not going to shag the tree are you?"

Her peal of laughter cut through the air, and made my heart clench.

"I don't believe that's anatomically possible, Severus. Although, I am woefully ill read on human-tree relations."

I smiled for the first time in ages, but my silence returned as I remembered waking up to an empty bed. I finally screwed up my courage and asked her.

"Why did you leave this morning?"

"You made such strides last night, Severus. I didn't want an awkward morning to tarnish that. I knew you'd find me. If you wanted to."

She didn't flinch when I leaned in closer to her, and laid my hand upon her shoulder.

"Indeed, it seems I have."

Not all of Hermione's little projects are as easy as her foray into horticulture. The willow has indeed grown more peaceable in his old age, but I have seen it eject many a pigeon from its branches with the botanical equivalent of foul language. But time, coupled with her loving hand, has worked wonders. And what of us? She once told me that I loved her, but claimed that I'd never admit it in polite company. It is true, I have never been a publicly affectionate man, but I believe the hand-fasting was public enough to prove her wrong at least on that account. It is still disconcerting to find a Weasley in my living room, or a Potter in the garden. I can no longer deduct house points from them, but I will always revert to my scholarly persona when one of their little brats goes tearing through my flower beds, kicking up dirt. Happily, my dour glances seem to have saved the rhododendrons so Hermione doesn't chastise me too harshly.

When our dinners out are interrupted by old acquaintances, I no longer scowl at them, though I don't tell them it's good to see them, as I think perhaps she would like me to. The older members of the order are getting on now (Albus is not as spry as he once was, and Minerva left us early last year) but they are frequent guests in our home. After a few rounds of spirits their talk always seems to turn to the "glory days" of Hogwarts, and I find myself remembering the dark years of my past. It is true, I will never be one of them, but when I feel Hermione's hand softly stroke my thigh under the table, I find it easier and easier to pretend that I am. And after dinner, she follows me upstairs.


End file.
